


Caldera

by kinsale_42



Series: McHanzo [13]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Binge Drinking, But Being Haunted By It Anyway, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Anguish, Processing Grief, References to Gabriel Reyes as per usual, Trying to Escape the Past, three times for emphasis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:48:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23978467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinsale_42/pseuds/kinsale_42
Summary: Jesse hasn't been quite himself since the job with Hanzo in Canada, and the only thing he can think to do is try and run from the pain. Hanzo, taken by surprise when Jesse leaves, is left to pick up the pieces. He takes what few clues he has to work with and sets out to find his lover and bring him home again.
Relationships: Jesse McCree/Hanzo Shimada
Series: McHanzo [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/925497
Comments: 2
Kudos: 44





	1. Pressure

Jesse was standing at the window when Hanzo got back from the store, his square shoulders softened by the thick leather of his motorcycle jacket. Hanzo was puzzled. He had left his lover lounging on the sofa in his pajamas, and now he was fully dressed and ready to walk out the door. He set the groceries down in the kitchen and stepped into the living room. 

"I have to go," Jesse said to the glass, before turning to face Hanzo. "There's things I have to attend to…back home." He picked up his duffel bag where it had been hidden behind a chair, and paused on his way to the door to give a shocked Hanzo a brief but sweet goodbye kiss. "I'm sorry, pumpkin. I'll call you."

"But…?" Hanzo didn't even get a chance to finish the thought before he was alone in the apartment, feeling like the floor had vanished from under his feet. He drifted back into the kitchen, some part of his mind remembering that he had food to put away. Dazed, and with a gaping void in the pit of his stomach, he gripped the edge of the counter and leaned into its unmoving solidity. What had gone wrong? 

Hanzo went over everything he could remember of the previous few days, and nothing stood out as unusual, not since they had returned from Toronto, anyway. His face crinkled up as he tried to reassert dominance over his emotions. 

Slowly, mechanically, he began to unpack his groceries. 

*

The horizon had faded to violet by the time Jesse turned his bike into his driveway late the next evening. He expected to feel some sort of calm when he stepped inside, but there underneath the driving fatigue, the same staticky feedback still zapped across his skin. His hat and coat went on the peg next to the door, but for now, his boots stayed on.

Jesse turned on a lamp, the one that Hanzo had put a low-output bulb into, and its tranquil glow illuminated the greater part of the apartment, just bright enough so he wouldn’t run into anything. He dropped his bag in the closet before heading to the bathroom to relieve himself.

Afterwards, as he washed his hands, the shadowy reflection that stared at him from the mirror was haggard and hard to focus on, almost unrecognizable. He splashed warm water on his face, scrubbing road grit from the uneven regrowth of his beard, and studiously avoided his own gaze. 

The clock reminded him of how late it was as he stood at the end of the bed, still neatly made from all those weeks before. Jesse could remember how Hanzo had adjusted a pillow and smoothed the edge of the duvet the last thing before they’d left, insisting that it would be so much better to return to a neatly-made bed than a messy one. Now, as Jesse looked down on the bed’s pristine covers and promise of restful comfort, he knew that the peace it offered would not be available to him. He turned away from the bedroom, kicking off his boots and stripping down to his shorts and t-shirt before lying down on the couch and grabbing the blanket that he kept there. Another memory of Hanzo came unbidden.

_ “That one is useless,” Hanzo said, indicating the Navajo-styled woolen throw blanket that Jesse held up. “A throw will cover no more of you than a postage stamp.” And he reached for a fuzzy twin-size blanket the color of the summer sky, folded neatly and tied with a ribbon. “This is big enough.” _

Jesse twisted off his prosthetic and laid it next to the couch, then pulled the soft blue fleece up over his shoulder, silently thanking Hanzo for his wisdom and his past self for acquiescing. He closed his eyes against the dimly lit room and waited in silence for morning to come.

Dawn found the couch empty, the blanket rumpled where it had been pushed aside. Jesse was in the shower, the water turned up hotter than usual, rubbing at his soapy scalp as if the extra intensity would make his hair grow back faster. He’d never regretted a haircut so much before, so much that his heart ached every time he remembered it. When he realized what he was doing he forced his fingers to relax, and rinsed the shampoo out. 

Jesse leaned against the wall for a moment, the tile cool against his forehead and the rushing water warm on his back. Swallowing down the lump in his throat, he turned off the taps and stepped out of the shower.

He nearly lost control again as he stood over the stove, waiting for his little Italian coffee pot to heat up. This time he quickly refocused his attention on putting away the coffee beans and thoroughly cleaning the grinder, and by the time that was done, so was his coffee. He carefully rinsed out the pot and left it to dry before taking his mug into the living room and opening the window to the spring sunshine.

Out near the street, a movement caught Jesse’s eye. A shadow detached from the overhanging branches of a scraggy pine, and by the time he realized it was just a woman taking her dog for its morning walk, the adrenaline was already in his bloodstream.

What was this curse? It had seemed so simple in that Toronto hotel room. Just forget Gabe. Leave him behind in the murky past, and walk forward. Only now Gabe was everywhere, not just in Jesse’s dreams, but hiding around every corner, a face in every crowd. Jesse snorted in anger, and slammed back the rest of his coffee on his way back to the kitchen. He had to get out, away from everything and everyone. He had to find peace, at least for a few days. Coming home alone should have been enough, but it apparently wasn't. 

He threw on a flannel over his t-shirt, and slipped his arms into his biker jacket as he stabbed his toes into his boots. His wallet and keys went into his pocket with his cigar case and lighter, and his hat went onto his head as his hand hesitated over the russet-colored serape that still hung on its peg. Jesse grabbed it and rolled it up to stow it on the back of his bike, then stepped outside, locking the door behind him.

On the coffee table, the indicator light on Jesse’s phone blinked silently, alerting the empty room to a newly received message.

*

Hanzo sat on his sofa, his feet tucked up under him. The radio was on, but he wasn’t listening. He was trying not to stare at his phone, yet simultaneously willing it to ring. To beep. Anything. More than two days had gone by, and he still hadn’t heard from Jesse. If he was heading to Albuquerque, he should be there by now, especially with the way he drove. Hanzo had sent two messages already, and wanted to send another, but if Jesse didn’t want to see him again, what would be the point? He’d only end up looking more pathetic. Hanzo sighed and got up to wander around the apartment again.

Since Jesse’d gone, Hanzo kept finding things that had been left behind. Were they forgotten, or was it intentional abandonment? The only clothes he’d taken with him were the dirty ones; there was still a pair of his jeans in the closet, along with some socks and underwear, and a few of his shirts. In fact, the shirt that Hanzo thought was his favorite was still on a hanger next to Hanzo’s kyudo-gi. Jesse’s toothbrush was still in the bathroom, though that would be easily replaced. But it didn’t  _ feel _ like Jesse had discarded these possessions. It was like he had left in a hurry, and just grabbed the first things he saw. There was no logic to any of it. 

It made Hanzo worried about what had happened to make him go. If it wasn’t anything to do with Hanzo, what was it? He drifted back into the living room and picked up his phone. Nothing new. He bit his lip and typed out another message.

_ Jesse. I am concerned for your safety. Please let me know you are well. If you do not wish to speak further, I will understand. ~H _

Another morning came with no word. At last the inaction was too much, and Hanzo began to pack his own bag. He could not wait any longer; he would find Jesse, whether or not Jesse wanted to be found.


	2. Tremors

Jesse dug a handful of credit tokens out of his wallet and counted them out. “Hey, throw another bottle of tequila in there, wouldja?” 

The convenience store clerk reached up and pulled a second liter of tequila down from the shelf, adding it to the cans of chili and the box of granola bars on the counter.

“That be everything?” The clerk scanned the additional bottle, and began to put everything in a paper sack. 

“Ummmm,” Jesse opened the cooler next to the register and pulled out a liter bottle of water to add to his purchases. “That’ll do it.” He pushed the credits across the counter and picked up his bag.

“Thanks,” he said to the clerk, and wasted no time getting out the door.

The road rolled out before him, taking him through a run-down roadside community, then out into an expanse of open scrub before turning up the arroyo and into the hills. Jesse hadn’t made any plans when he set out, but he knew this road and where it went, and it was comfortable. It would take him away from the city, away from people. 

He passed the old hot springs hotel, still clinging to the bare trickle of tourist trade that managed to find its way out this far. And then there was nothing but empty road, trees, and a few abandoned buildings. The federal protection for the area had been decommissioned years before, opening the land up for resource extraction that never came. Too expensive, they’d said. Jesse was glad of it, and though he had some good memories of managed hiking trails and campgrounds from his childhood, he’d prefer it reverted to the wild than be destroyed by clearcuts and strip mines.

At last he came around the curve that opened to a meadow on his right, and then there was a narrow strip of grass on either side, and then the panorama opened out into a broad expanse of spring green coming up through the faded straw of winter. Jesse took a deep breath, and the clear mountain air was sweet like honey. He could breathe, finally, here in the open, under the sky.

An overgrown track branched off the old two-lane, and Jesse turned with it, following it up to where a crumbling rock outcrop and a nearby stand of spruce and pine provided all the shelter he needed. He parked the bike in the trees, where it wouldn’t stand out if anyone happened to be looking, then fished one of the bottles of tequila out of the storage compartment. After shoving it in his pocket, he started walking towards the rocks. 

There was a charred old fire circle in the scree at the base of the outcrop, sheltered from the prevailing winds. Jesse gave it a nod, making a mental note to scrounge a little firewood later. It was going to get cold out here, at this elevation, under the open sky. 

But first, he needed to see everything, and to numb away the buzzing of his nerves. He scrambled up the rocks; it was an easy climb, and it would be an easy descent, even with a little tequila in him. He sat down on the weathered stone, pulling out his bottle and his cigar case. A light breeze danced around him, tugging gently at the brim of his hat. He took it off and set it on the rock beside him.

Jesse trimmed a cigar and hunched over it, cupping his hand to shield the flame of his lighter as the tobacco caught. The flavor of the smoke filled his mouth and nose, and with it, the world settled a little. He unscrewed the cap of his bottle and raised it in a toast to the bands of clouds that rippled across the sky, to the vast, empty grassland, and to the rim of gentle peaks that separated him from the rest of the world.

“Fuck you, Gabe,” he said into the wind, and took a long swallow of tequila.

*

Hanzo paid the taxi fare, then picked up his bags and turned to look at Jesse’s half of the duplex. The truck was parked in the carport, but there was no sign of the bike. He slung his bow case over his shoulder and trudged up the driveway, shoving his hand in his pocket for the key. The smooth stones of the keychain were body-heat-warm against his thumb, and he stroked them as he gathered his nerve to approach the door.

Before he even touched the knob, he set down his bag and took another look around. There was no indication anything was out of the ordinary, and nothing to show if Jesse had even returned here. Hanzo took a deep breath and silently tried the door. Locked. He slid the key into the deadbolt and turned it as quietly as he could. For a moment he stood there, key still inserted in the lock, and wondered if he should knock first. But Jesse had given him this key, and told him he was welcome to use it at any time. He had to go on the assumption that this rule was still good. 

Hanzo opened the door. The apartment was silent. He picked up his bag and stepped inside, closing the heavy door behind him. One of the living room shutters was open a crack, and the bright light of early afternoon spilled across the tile floor. As a result, it almost escaped his notice that the lamp by the door was on. He set his bag and his bow case down next to the table, and moved further into the room to assess the situation. There was the blanket, askew on the couch. Hanzo moved into the bedroom, his steps automatically silent, although he felt certain he was alone. He saw that Jesse’s bag was still on the floor in the middle of the closet. Bending over it, he looked inside. It was, as he expected, half-full of wadded-up clothing and little else.

The rest of the apartment failed to reveal much more. The towels in the bathroom were all dry, as were the parts of the coffee pot that had been laid out on the kitchen counter. There was a single unwashed coffee mug in the sink but no food in the refrigerator, and the only thing in the trash was used coffee grounds. Jesse had been here, but not for long. Everything suggested he'd been away for hours already. Perhaps he had gone out for supplies? For a meal? He’d left a light on and a window unshuttered, which wasn’t something he would normally do if he meant to be gone long. 

Hanzo had one more thought, and reached for the coffee tin. Yes, this was the coffee he had picked up just the other day at the shop around the corner from Hanzo's apartment. Hanzo sighed and lifted his gaze up to the square of blue sky that was visible through the skylight. Something still didn’t feel right. He turned, and went back into the living room. It was then that he saw what he’d overlooked the first time, and it hit him like a fist in the gut. Jesse’s phone was lying on the coffee table. 

Why on earth would he leave his phone behind? Hanzo could accept everything else as natural behavior for Jesse, but not this. His life revolved around the trade of information, and this single device was the keystone. It was always somewhere on Jesse’s person.

Hanzo picked up the phone and turned on the display. It was locked, and the only information it revealed was that there was one message waiting. It could be Hanzo’s last message, or it could be from some unknown sender. Hanzo’s throat constricted as he realized that this meant Jesse had at least dismissed the notifications from his first two messages, or worse, read them without replying. There had to be a good reason for all this. There had better be.

He carried the phone over to the charging pad in the bedroom and laid it down. Whatever else happened, it wouldn’t be helpful to let the battery die. Hanzo sank down onto the bed, something within him crumpling. There were no ready answers here waiting for him; all he had to work with were the scattered pieces Jesse had left behind. And if Jesse had left the house that day to run normal household errands, he could return at any time. So the first thing to do, the hardest, was to wait.

Hanzo laid back flat on the fluffy duvet and stared up at the ceiling, trying his best to ignore the spinning in his head. 

The next thing he knew, the room was full of shadows, and the light that bled in from the living room was amber from the sunset. He sat up, dazed from sleep, and looked at the clock. Hours had passed since he arrived. For a second he panicked that he’d missed something, but it was pretty clear that nothing had changed except the time of day.

Sighing, Hanzo kicked off his shoes and padded over to get his bag from the living room. He unpacked the things Jesse had left at Hanzo’s place that would normally have returned with him, but he hesitated at unpacking his own things. Maybe he should wait and see if he was welcome before he settled in. He set the bag at the foot of the bed and began to put away his boyfriend’s possessions instead. 

In the closet, he was hanging up the last of Jesse’s forgotten shirts when he looked down and saw the corner of a wooden box peeking out of the shadows. A light flared in Hanzo’s memory. It was the box that contained Jesse’s family treasures. He crouched down, and ran his fingers over its smooth finish tenderly, as if touching the wood could bring him closer to his missing lover.

A lump formed in his throat and he turned away, grabbing Jesse’s dirty laundry instead, intending to carry it out and put it in the washing machine, but the clothes still smelled like Jesse and that diverted him. He ended up sitting on the floor of the closet for some time, his nose buried in the fabric, before eventually returning them to the bag. If anything happened to Jesse...well, he didn’t want to wash those things just yet.

Out in the living room again, he pulled out his phone and made the call he didn’t want to make. As it rang, Hanzo closed the open shutter against the deepening New Mexico night.

“Hanzo. What can I do for you?”

“Jack. I am sorry to disturb you.” Hanzo stopped. He didn’t know quite how to continue.

“Not at all. Something up?” On the other end of the call, Jack’s senses were tingling. Hanzo rarely called anyone, so already this situation seemed unusual.

“Jesse...I do not know where he is.” It sounded so stupid when he said it out loud, such a non-issue, but Hanzo’s stomach twisted in knots regardless.

Jack, however, took the news with rising concern. “What happened? Take me through it.” The thought occurred to him that this could be a result of relationship difficulties between the two younger men, but somehow he didn’t think Hanzo would be calling him for help if that was the case. Jesse might, perhaps, but not Hanzo.

Hanzo swallowed down the wave of fear that threatened to overwhelm him just as he reached out for help, and tried to organize his thoughts. He decided to start at the beginning. 

“We went to Toronto together. For a job. We returned, and everything was as usual for several days. Then he told me he had to leave, and gave me no reasons. He simply left.” Hanzo took a deep breath and continued. “I have not heard from him for three days, and I have traveled to his home and he has been here but is no longer. Jack,” he said, feeling dizzy. “His phone was left behind.”

The gears were turning in Jack's head. “The trip to Toronto...how did you travel?”

The specific question gave Hanzo something to focus on, even as it surprised him. “What? By air. A commercial flight. Jesse used a disguise.”

“Okay. And what was the name he was traveling under?” Jack pulled his laptop over and began to type.

“Michael King.”

Jack stopped breathing for a moment. “Ha. Well. He probably shouldn’t be using that one anymore. But let me see, hang on…”

Hanzo could hear the keytaps on the other end of the line. He waited. Then he remembered what Jesse had said before they’d left Canada. “Jesse told me he does not care to use it again.”

There was another pause before Jack spoke again. “Well, there’s no obvious flags on that identity or his real one, but let me send an inquiry to a friend of mine who has some fingers in less obvious pies...I mean, they have connections in darker places. I’m going to hand you over to Ana for a minute while I do that, she might be able to offer up some insight if this is something Jesse’s doing of his own free will, because it's a definite possibility." Jack held his phone to his chest and turned to his companion. “It’s Hanzo,” he said quietly. “Jesse’s gone missing, after going undercover for a job. Hasn’t he done that before?”

Ana, who had been listening unobtrusively to Jack’s half of the conversation, nodded and took the phone Jack handed her.

“Hanzo,” she said, her voice a spot of calm in the storm. “How long was he undercover?”

“A week.”

Ana’s eyebrows went up. That wasn’t usually enough to drain an operative to such an extent that they went AWOL. “What sort of job was it?” 

“Security,” Hanzo replied simply, unwilling to elaborate further. 

“It was his Reyes-lookalike legend,” Jack said in a low voice as he hit send on his inquiry.

They exchanged glances. “Oh. Oh I see. Now Hanzo,” she said, returning her attention to the conversation. “Was he acting unusual before he left?”

“No,” Hanzo answered, but then he wavered. “Not after we returned. Perhaps he seemed more tired than usual.”

“Well, I think it’s reasonable to assume that Jesse just needed a rest after the strain of going undercover, and he has probably gone somewhere quiet to find himself again. He’s taken himself off once or twice before, after a long or stressful job, just to get back into his own skin. I’m sure everything will be fine.” Ana’s tone was as reassuring as she could make it. Jack stretched his hand out for the phone. “Here’s Jack,” she said, and handed the device back.

“Hanzo, it doesn’t look like there’s any chatter about Jesse in any of the channels that might be interested in him, so I think it’s safe to say he hasn’t been burned. And I get your point about him not having his phone, but it looks like he’s doing his own thing here. I’ll keep an eye out, and if anything comes my way, I'll get in touch immediately.” Jack grimaced slightly. “Sorry we couldn’t be more help. Let me know if you need anything else.”

Hanzo nodded to himself, and when he spoke again, it was with resignation. “Thank you.” He terminated the call.

That was it. If he was going to find his lover, he’d be doing it on his own. The magnitude of the task was overwhelming, but a sense of resolve began to crystallize within him. The way forward wasn’t clear, but Hanzo felt certain he’d figure this out somehow. He thought of the box in the closet, and the personal items it held. He’d start there.


	3. False Calm

Out beyond the bright flames of Jesse’s small campfire, the night was dark and still, the moonless sky an infinite field of stars. Jesse sat propped up against a boulder, watching the dancing fire and nursing his tequila buzz. He could feel the darkness around him and within him, he didn't need to look into it, so his eyes remained focused on the hypnotic motion of the firelight. 

He came to with a start. The fire was low, just glowing embers and the occasional licking flame, and the cold of the night had settled in, bone-deep. A pale sliver of a moon hung just above the horizon. He shivered. 

Jesse reached over to his pile of scavenged deadwood and fished out a couple of branches to keep the fire going. Once he felt sure it would keep going for a while, he settled back against his rock and pulled his serape close around him again. He took a drink from his bottle. This was okay. He didn't have to be anyone or anything out here. He could just be. 

As the flames warmed his toes and the liquor dulled his thoughts, there was a flicker of an image that passed through his mind, of Hanzo's body entwined with his, a curtain of black hair against his cheek. With another long swallow of tequila, the picture in his head drifted away, and the chill of the night and the sounds of the fire were the only things that were real. 

*

The little market down the street from Jesse’s place was quiet on a Wednesday morning. Hanzo walked up and down the aisles, filling his handbasket with food for himself and Jesse, half his mind elsewhere. The night before, he had found the key for the keepsake box, conveniently taped to the box itself, and unpacked the contents. He was most interested in the photographs, and studied them closely, trying to imagine where he might go if he were Jesse. But the photos all centered people, and even if he hadn’t been certain that Jesse had disappeared specifically to get away from people, surely most of the ones in the pictures were long gone by now. There was no way to tell which, if any, of the background locations were important. 

There was a glossy travel magazine at the checkstand. He threw that on top of his groceries. Maybe that would give him an idea. Hanzo remembered the trip they had taken to the overlook above the city. Perhaps there? Except there was that radio tower, and the cafe...and would he want to be there for days? Would he even stay in one place or just travel continuously? Would he be going somewhere from the time between the pictures and Overwatch? Jesse talked even less about that than he did about the rest of his life. 

He paid for his groceries and thanked the cashier. As the automatic doors slid open to let him through, he glanced at the wire rack next to the door that was in the process of being filled with its weekly delivery of advertising circulars. “Antiques!” screamed the large ad on the front page. Hanzo carried his bags out and put them in the passenger side of the pickup.

Antiques, he thought. There was that shop that Jesse took him to that time, to meet his aunt...or not his aunt, a family friend that he called an aunt. Perhaps she had seen him recently. It might be worth looking into. It was a lead, anyway, the only one he had so far. He drove the three blocks back to the apartment, his sense of urgency climbing as he went. Once there, Hanzo shoved the two bags of groceries into the refrigerator without unpacking them, and raced back out to the truck to drive across town.

The bell on the door jingled softly against the glass as he pushed it open, and the woman behind the counter looked up and smiled.

“Well, hey there! It’s been a while, how have you been?” Ruth looked past Hanzo, as if expecting someone else to follow him in. “Jesse not with you today?”

“Ah, no. He is not.” Hanzo moistened his lips, steeling himself to do the one thing he always hated doing: asking for help. “Actually, I have come to see you because I am looking for…” Something in the way she looked at him expectantly, something about her question that still echoed in his ears, it stopped him finishing his sentence the way he intended. In a split second he redirected everything, making up his mind to take a different approach. “...a gift,” he said.

"Well, hon, you're in the right place. Something for Jesse? Very smart to start planning for a birthday gift well in advance. Especially for someone like him, he always was a bit particular. I don't imagine that's changed much. Unless it's for an anniversary? Oh, would you listen to me go on? Heavens." She paused, not that she needed to take a breath. It was more to re-establish the direction of her sales pitch. "What sort of thing were you looking for, dear? Something for the home or something a bit more personal? I've got some nice flasks and knives." 

Hanzo was a bit flustered by Ruth's steady stream of chatter, but it seemed to go unnoticed by Ruth herself. He stepped over to the display case that she indicated and looked down at its varied contents. At first, everything was a blur, as most of his energy was focused on figuring out what to do without causing unnecessary fuss. But he tried to follow the sales patter he was being given, and peered carefully at every object in turn. It occurred to him that it would be a good idea to actually make a purchase, so Hanzo adjusted his mindset again, and began to consider what he might really want to give Jesse. 

"A birthday gift," he said, belatedly answering Ruth's query when there was another break in her monologue. "Our anniversary, if you were to call it that, is in December." His gaze traveled over the antique pocket knives, polished silver flasks, and inlaid cigarette and cigar cases. They would all be useful to Jesse in one way or another, but nothing struck Hanzo as particularly special. 

"Ah, of course. Like I said, smart of you to start early, because if you don't see quite the right thing, but you have an idea, there's time for me to find it for you. Let's see, it's the first week of April now, that gives us, what, ten weeks? Eleven?" Ruth was counting off on her fingers. Hanzo stiffened in front of her, awkwardly silent. "He hasn't told you, has he? Now, why am I not surprised? You poor thing. I don't remember the exact day but it's the end of June, right before his mother's. And he's close to forty now, surely." 

Hanzo nodded. That much he knew. Jesse was a year younger than himself. He was embarrassed that he didn't know the birthday, when he had held Jesse's birth certificate in his hands just last night. But he hadn't really looked at it, and certainly hadn't paid attention to the date, because it hadn't occurred to him that he needed to know. 

Ruth continued on, comfortably garrulous against Hanzo's reticence. "Forty will likely be a tough year for him, what with that being the age his daddy was when he passed. War is hell, as they say." Hanzo looked up sharply as she paused to sigh and pat his hand. "It's good he has you, dear. Always difficult to face one's own mortality, and even harder alone."

Slightly bewildered by the flood of information he was being given, Hanzo turned his eyes back to the display case. There was a tray of rings, and something tugged at his heart when he saw them, but none of them looked  _ right _ . And then he saw the one perfect thing, in a modest satin-lined box, a slender torpedo of cinnamon-colored wood. A pen. 

The skilled salesperson that she was, Ruth did not miss the intensity of Hanzo’s interest. She reached into the cabinet and brought the box out onto the glass top of the case. Deftly removing the cap to show the condition of the nib, she embarked upon her informational spiel. 

"This pen is one of a model that was manufactured between 2010 and 2024. The ink cartridge it takes is still a commonly available standard size, and we were able to obtain an original conversion kit to draw up any type of ink instead of using a cartridge, if desired. It comes with a medium point nib, and all the workings have been thoroughly cleaned and tested." Ruth slid the cap back on with a quiet click and put it in Hanzo's hand. "If you’d like to try it out, I have an ink cartridge."

It was comfortable in Hanzo's fingers, well-balanced, and the wood was silky to the touch. It was perhaps just a smidge longer than Hanzo would like, but in Jesse’s hand… He removed the cap, a subtle tug suggesting that it was held secure by a magnet, and slid it onto the back end of the pen's body. Yes, a nicely balanced implement, not too heavy, not too light. In his mind's eye, he could see Jesse's long fingers pushing this pen across one of his numerous yellow notepads. Hanzo unscrewed the body of the pen and examined the interior workings. 

"I see you know your fountain pens." Ruth smiled and pulled an ink cartridge from beneath the satin lining of the storage box. 

"Yes, in Japan they are used more frequently than they are here. This appears to be a good quality pen." Hanzo accepted the cartridge and pushed it down on the prongs that released the ink, then screwed the pen back together. He took the pad that Ruth offered, and once the ink started, he wrote a few lines of text to see how well the ink flowed down through the nib. It wrote smoothly, indicating it had been properly cleaned, and Hanzo was pleased, because he wanted so much to buy this for Jesse.

“You like it?” Ruth asked. The question was a formality only; she was experienced enough to recognize when someone found what they wanted. 

Hanzo nodded and slipped the cap back on. It clicked with a satisfying weight as the magnet caught. He laid it in its box, and Ruth took the box to wrap it up for him. He followed her down the counter to the register, where he was immediately drawn to the dramatic landscapes and brilliant colors of the postcard rack by the register. He turned the rack to look at each one as Ruth rang up his purchase.

One photograph seemed familiar. Hanzo plucked the card from the rack and flipped it over to read the tiny text that gave the location of the photo.  _ Valles Caldera, NM.  _

“I would like to purchase this too, please,” he said, handing the postcard to Ruth.

“Of course!” She looked at the card before she scanned it. “That’s a pretty place, just a couple hours north of here. Used to be a regular national monument, before the Crisis. Lots of history there as well as some fine camping and stargazing. When I was a fair bit younger, we had quite a few good times out that way. My husband and I would meet up with Jesse’s family there for holidays, too, back when his daddy was out at Los Alamos.”

Hanzo paid for his purchases, not noticing that what he was charged was far less than the price indicated on the little card in the display case. He wasn’t thinking of the pen anymore, he was remembering a snapshot of a family next to a blue canvas tent, with a vast green field in the background. 

“Thank you. I appreciate your help,” he told Ruth. She had given him a great deal more assistance than she knew, and quite a bit more than he had even dared hope for.

“Don’t mention it, dear. You just come back in and let me know how he liked his present, okay?” She beamed at him as he headed towards the door. “And tell him to come by more often and say hi to his Ruthie!”

*

Open sky, open ground. Hanzo remembered Jesse had said something once about being able to see who was sneaking up on him in the open desert, and he seemed to have the same preference for high country and the vistas it afforded that Hanzo did. All the way back to Jesse's apartment he tried to convince himself not to put all his faith in this one possibility, but his instincts were screaming that this was the place. If play-acting as Gabriel Reyes had brought this on, it would be a chance to escape to the time before Reyes had made his mark on Jesse's life. 

It would certainly be his own choice, given the options. 

Hanzo dug a banana out of the still-bagged groceries and sat down to eat it while looking up more information on the Valles Caldera. He found the photo of the campers in the stack he'd left out on the table and compared it to the postcard and to the image results returned by his internet search. It was difficult to pinpoint the exact site of the tent, but Hanzo got a sense of the area, and decided on how he wanted to search. He looked at the clock. If he left now, he could spend four hours there, searching, and still be back here by dark. 

But now he was afraid to rush. Carefully, he put away the photographs, back in their envelope and into the heirloom chest. He wrapped up his banana peel in a napkin and threw it into the kitchen trash. While washing his hands at the kitchen sink, Hanzo decided to change his clothes. 

Twenty minutes later, Hanzo was dressed in his signature battle garb, not because he expected combat, but because he wanted to be recognizable. He was also willing to admit, to himself at least, that putting on the kyudo-gi and hakama allowed him to inhabit a certain resolute frame of mind, not entirely unlike Jesse's undercover role-playing. He strapped his bow case securely into the bed of the pickup truck, and began his journey northwards.


	4. Collapse

Jesse rubbed his eyes, then squinted. That dark smudge by the treeline down the valley hadn’t been there a minute ago. It grew larger as it moved towards him across the meadow. He drew his Peacekeeper and laid it on his thigh, his hand loosely covering it, took another swig from his nearly empty bottle, then leaned back to watch the figure approach. 

Gradually the form took a discernible shape, with square shoulders garbed in loose, dark clothing that fluttered in the breeze. For a brief moment, Jesse took the dark hair as a hood, and imagined a bone mask where there was only the pale skin of a bare face, and his fingers tightened on his weapon. But then, even through the haze that the booze laid across his mind, he realized that no man could keep a hood up in this wind any more than he could keep his hat on.

It was then that the details resolved, and Jesse got to his feet, gun in one hand, tequila bottle in the other. He clambered down from his rock to the grassy meadow, only a little unsteady on his feet. And he waited there, as Hanzo made his way to him, leaving the narrow track that was nothing more than two muddy ruts through the grass to meet Jesse where he stood. The wind whipped at his black silk robe, and his unbound hair streamed out to the side of his face, black and silver shimmering in the clear spring sunlight.

Hanzo stopped just out of arm’s reach, his face impassive but his eyes alive, trying to find the signals in Jesse’s face that would tell him if he was welcome here. Jesse, blurry-drunk and finally confronted with the one thing that would break the dam and let loose the flood of emotions he’d been trying to bury, took a step forward.

“Hanzo…” he said, his voice dry ragged from the smoke, and the booze, and the few days’ silence. He felt warm hands reach out for him as Hanzo gently took his gun and bottle. Jesse fell into his lover’s arms, and then they were kneeling in the long grass, and he had his arms around Hanzo’s waist and his face against Hanzo’s chest, and he could hear a fierce heartbeat pounding against his ear. 

Hanzo held Jesse tightly as the sobs ripped through his body, and the ferocity of them affected Hanzo too, and tears welled up in his own eyes, rolling down his cheeks to fall, unheeded, in fat drops. He stroked Jesse’s head, not caring how dirty his hair was. He smoothed his fingers over the cowlicks, where there wasn’t enough regrowth yet to keep the unruliness in check, and let his palm slide down to rest at the nape of Jesse’s neck, where he knew its weight and warmth would be a comfort. Hanzo’s eye caught an unexpected glint of silver in the ruddy brown of Jesse’s hair—a reminder that Jesse, too, was growing older.

Soon the crying jag had run its course, but they remained locked together until their bodies threatened to rebel, the meadow grass dancing around them as the unrelenting breeze continued on its way. 

"Jesse," Hanzo murmured. "Do you want to go home?" They were warm together, but the air around them felt colder than it had when Hanzo had arrived. His senses were alerting him to a coming storm, and he had to persuade Jesse to return with him to safety, however gently.

Not much persuasion was required, however, because Jesse nodded, his head still against Hanzo's chest. 

"Yeah," he replied, and sniffled. 

By the time they had gathered up Jesse’s things and secured the bike in the bed of the truck, the wind had dropped significantly, and fat snowflakes were beginning to fall.


	5. Stabilization

Jesse was beginning to feel like hell by the time they got back to Albuquerque. He didn’t fight it as Hanzo stripped off his clothes and pushed him into the shower. He did his best to soap himself, but fiercely scrubbing his aching head was completely out of the question this time. Hanzo had laid out clean underwear for him on the counter, and he put them on and headed straight for the couch.

In the meantime, Hanzo had finally dealt with his shopping, and started preparing a meal to mediate the worst of Jesse’s coming hangover. When Jesse went for the sofa, he was right there with a banana, a glass of water, and two aspirin. 

“Rest,” Hanzo said as he tucked the fleecy blanket around his lover’s steam-damp body. “I will get you when dinner is ready.”

Jesse’s stomach was already turning somersaults after the banana, but he nodded before closing his eyes and trying to reach some kind of equilibrium state where his head wouldn’t throb too much. He heard Hanzo turn on some quiet music, and then various sounds of cooking from the kitchen.

Hanzo came back over when dinner was ready, and looked down at his lover for a minute before waking him. Jesse’s face was more drawn than usual, with deep shadows beneath his eyes. The short hair around his ears was sticking straight out, and Hanzo couldn’t stop himself from trying to tame it, brushing it back with his fingertips. It was enough to bring Jesse out of his shallow dozing, and his eyes opened.

“I have prepared a meal,” Hanzo told him quietly. When it was clear Jesse was getting up, he went ahead to fetch the plates.

Jesse groaned softly as he stood and stretched. His head was still pounding and he was having a hard time imagining eating anything but he had to admit that the fragrances of bacon and coffee weren’t entirely unpleasant. His eyes widened slightly as he saw the plate Hanzo had set out for him.

“Good lord,” he said, pulling up his chair. “You cooked all this?” There was a huge pile of fried potatoes topped with two eggs fried over easy, and four slices of bacon done so it was just this side of being burnt, exactly the way Jesse liked it. He reached for the bottle of hot sauce that Hanzo had left for him next to a steaming mug of coffee.

“Yes,” replied Hanzo between bites. “This is the American hangover treatment, is it not? The greasy breakfast?” 

Jesse had to agree. “Yeah, yeah, this is traditional. Thank you.” He took a deep breath and started to work on the food in front of him.

“Good. I was also very hungry,” Hanzo admitted. 

Jesse’s plate was nearly clean when Hanzo broke the silence.

“I can trim your hair if you like.”

Jesse flinched as though he’d been struck. His hand froze where it was stabbing at a chunk of potato with his fork. “I’m good, thanks. I don’t want to cut it.” He forced himself to continue eating. 

“I see. I have found that it is less awkward to grow out if kept to some standard of order, if it appears to be intentionally styled. But it is your choice.” Hanzo sipped his tea. The room was quiet again as they finished eating. Jesse stood up first, and collected their plates to carry to the kitchen. Hanzo followed with the mugs and the condiments.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you,” Jesse said as they set the dishes on the counter. He turned to Hanzo, who looked up at him, unperturbed. “It’s not your fault. None of this is about you, except...well I don’t want you to have to suffer through any of this bullshit that’s been rattling around in my head since we came back from Canada. That’s why I took off.”

“Jesse.” Hanzo’s tone was verging on his “don’t be ridiculous” voice. He took Jesse’s hand and held it between his two palms. “Please do not be afraid that I will not love you for being yourself.”

“That’s just it though, isn’t it? Who’s to say when I will be taken over by ghosts from my past? Reyes is in my blood, I can’t get rid of him. How can I be myself with you when there’s so much of him up here?” Jesse tapped his temple.  


Hanzo moved a little bit closer, and when Jesse didn’t move away, he took it as a positive sign. He curled his fingers around Jesse’s hand and cradled it against his chest. “But yet, you are not him. I do not know Reyes, and what I know of him I do not care for, but I owe him a debt. He shaped you. Yet you were not unformed clay when you came to him, and what he gave you was only a piece of what makes you who you are, and you can not destroy that part without destroying yourself. Maybe you have the ability to pretend to be him. That does not make you like him.” He stopped, his lips parted, waiting for a reaction from his partner. He wasn’t in the habit of making such lengthy or impassioned speeches. “I care for you, for who you are now.”

“I know,” Jesse murmured, reaching up to touch Hanzo’s face with his fingertips. “I know you mean it. Because you’re holding my left hand.”

Hanzo looked down in surprise to find he was indeed holding Jesse’s prosthetic hand. Jesse took the opportunity to reclaim it, and slid his arms around his lover.

“Maybe I’ll let you fix my hair later,” he said into Hanzo’s ear. “That’s kind of how you’ve affected my life, you know. You smooth out the rough edges, fill in the cracks.”

“Mmm,” Hanzo replied, his arms wrapped tightly around Jesse’s waist. “I cannot make you whole, but perhaps I can prevent you from tearing yourself apart.”

*

“You never asked how I located you.”    
  
Jesse rolled onto his side to face Hanzo’s silhouette. “I saw the postcard and the chest on the coffee table. I figured you put two and two together.”

Hanzo scooted closer under the duvet. “I had help.” He nudged his lover, who then turned back to face the other way so Hanzo could be the big spoon.

“I’m glad.” Jesse pulled Hanzo’s arm snug around his ribcage. “Han, promise you’ll always come for me.”

“I promise,” Hanzo said, his lips brushing the back of Jesse’s neck. “I will always find you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes the playlists I put together for stories work really well for me, and I like this one a lot. So if you're into that kind of thing, you can check it out here: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7IotUOQig0fn8VwaNVgyqI?si=FTMmmqAASAuZ11QZwOwPWQ


End file.
